Pride
by Mint Pizza Queen
Summary: Wilson was not a proud man. In fact, he was ashamed of himself a good majority of the time. He hated himself, he hated what he did, and he hated how he hurt people. Implied House/Wilson. COMPLETED.


**Fandom:** House, MD  
**Characters/Pairing:** Gregory House / James Wilson  
**Prompt:** #7 - "Pride"  
**Word Count:** 1444  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** House, MD © David Shore  
**Author's Notes:** Continuation of "Wrath". You don't need to read it, cause I'll sum it up for you: Foreman was evil to a homeless patient, which hurt Wilson's feelings, which sort of drove him over the edge and made him hurt himself (not intentionally, mind you). House is trying to get things to smooth over, in good old fashioned House style. Rated for language, blood, and Attitude with a capital A. Oh, and House is like a fluffy kitten. I like kittens. Kittens are very fluffy--fluffy kitten House. Now isn't THAT a cute picture?

If there was anything that Wilson normally lacked that House made up for, it was pride.

Wilson was not a proud man. In fact, he was ashamed of himself a good majority of the time. He hated himself, he hated what he did, he hated how he hurt people, and he hated how he tried to fix everything but only made things worse.

His pride was in the negatives.

House, on the other hand, his pride was in the billions, on a scale from one to ten. He was overly sure of himself, did things despite knowing the math would scream 'don't do it, you fucking moron!', and allowed his ego to get into the way, which more often than not led him to serving jail time a few times here and there.

So obviously, House felt a wee bit awkward when Wilson made a sudden one-eighty and found himself battling against someone with pride just as large as his, and at the worse moment possible.

"Wilson, open this door."

"House, go away."

House gently rapped his cane against the door, freezing when he spotted a few drops of blood on the tile. He inwardly cringed, remembering how just hours ago Wilson had slammed his hand into the glass divider after losing his cool while discussion Foreman's heinous behavior.

"Wilson, would you _please_ open the door?" Being polite was against his nature. Typically he used manners sarcastically when he was trying to get a point across, but at this point, if being polite would save Wilson's life, then he was be the sweetest little angel in the world and would never insult Cuddy again.

But that didn't save Foreman from his nastiness.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to."

Apparently, Wilson was the same way when it came to being polite--or just plain pig-headed.

"Wilson, don't make me get Cuddy. She does things--evil things." He squinted at the door, making an evil face despite knowing that Wilson wouldn't see it. It did, however, make a few nearby doctors walk the other way. Evil faces from House usually meant pain, or other unspeakable things that usually led to lawsuits--or surgeries that weren't needed before.

"So don't you."

Ouch. _Burn._

"I'm hurt, Wilson." House placed a hand over his heart and made a pained grunt. "It hit me--right in the heart."

"Funny, I didn't know that you had one."

Wilson two; House none.

Apparently, Wilson was still sore about Foreman's bad behavior from before. Obviously he didn't get the update on what went on in Cuddy's office after House arrived ("SUSPEND HIS ASS OR ELSE HIS ASS IS MINE.") and explained what went on ("HE'S MORE BASTARDLY THAN ME.") and suggested what should've been done ("Let me give Wilson an ax, he'll have hours of fun with Foreman. If not, at least I'll feel better.").

"Wilson, will you let me in if I tell you that I got Cuddy to suspend Foreman for two weeks?" He clenched his teeth and crossed his fingers in hopes that Wilson would just _listen_ and stop acting like--like--

Stop acting like House.

The locked snapped and the door opened up completely to find Wilson staring back at him, baffled. "You what?"

House stepped in, careful to avoid stepping on the blood spots and to avoid hitting Wilson. "Yup. I went down and spoke with Cuddy. She punished him by suspending him for two weeks--" he turned his head and grinned. "No pay." He turned back and continued to the couch before dropping down onto it. "And when he comes back, he's to be under supervision from a higher up for a couple months. I suggested anger management, but Cuddy thought of something better." House hooked the cane onto the back of the couch and stretched out with a content sigh. "She's going to make him work community service and help the homeless during those couple of months. It's part of the 'I promise I won't call the police if you do the following but piss me off and I will' deal she has going."

"Kind of like what she has going with you." Wilson was glaring now, but fortunately (or unfortunately) not at House.

House chose wisely not to respond to that, and instead sat up, patting the empty part of the couch beside him. Wilson accepted it without speaking, taking several steps before dropping down, and pushing his back into the cushions. He brought his hands (House grimaced to see that Wilson's hand that was wrapped in gauze had started to stain pink) to his face, digging the palms into his eyes with frustration.

Wilson was malleable, House knew. When he was willing to accept something, that meant he was stuck in the middle between being an arrogant ass like House, or being the Wonder Boy Wilson that everybody grew up to know.

House wanted Wonder Boy Wilson back, and attempted to bring him back.

"You're stressed. Why don't we go out for a drink later?"

"No thanks."

"You sure? Don't need to drink--grab some Chinese, Indian, Italian. You name it, you got it."

Wilson lowered his hands, head turning towards House. His face had the baffled expression on it again, but his eyes--

--his eyes were still hard.

"What's with the generosity all of the sudden?"

"I--"

"Don't pity me."

House scoffed. "Why would I pity you? I'm offering something to you. You can say yes or no, you don't need to be an asshole."

"Because that's Foreman's job."

The man nodded. "Yes, that's Foreman's job."

"And your job is to be a bastard."

"Yes, that's right. I'm the bastard."

"Then what's my job?"

House's head shot up to stare at Wilson, who was now staring ahead, his hands cradled in his lap. "Wilson?"

"What's my job, House? What am I?"

"You're Wilson." House pointed out. He hated having to be the comforter; he was the bastard, just as they had clarified seconds ago.

"I don't like being Wilson." His friend appeared very tired suddenly, and he appeared older by the second.

"I like you being Wilson."

"Then you can be me." Wilson took off his name tag and dropped it into House's lap gently, making the man look down to see the letters JAMES E. WILSON, M. D. staring back at him. He took a hold of the tag between his fingers and stared at it sadly before he shifted awkwardly on the couch so he could get better access to Wilson. "I can't be you."

"Why not? I can be you, you can be me--it'll work--"

"I can't be you because I'm the bastard, you--" He reached out and clipped the tag back onto Wilson's pocket, making the oncologist look down to see what he was doing. "--you are the caring one. You are the one who is kind, helping, and you've got a big heart. I don't. Like you said, I don't have a heart, and even if I did, it's not big enough to care for anybody besides myself."

House would never be able to live it down if Wilson ran out of the office screaming everything that he just said. It would suck even more if there was a camera recording this at this very moment.

It wouldn't surprise him if Chase stuck one in here just to prove his theory on House and Wilson having a thing going on between them.

He'd have to check YouTube later tonight to make sure that little marsupial didn't upload anything.

"Wow, House, I never knew you cared."

House's gaze shot up from the tag to see Wilson's laughing eyes staring at him.

"I mean, really, just seconds ago, you were all 'I'm a bastard, blah blah blah--' and now you're--you're--" He smiled. "Cheering me up. It's sweet, really, it is."

House snorted, whipping his head away with agitation. "Please, like I'd ever do anything like that. I'm just saying what Cameron would say. She'd have a conniption if I didn't try anything to make you feel better. Cuddy would kick my ass, and Chase would--I don't know, sick his kangaroo army on me, or something. So don't get any ideas. This isn't going to happen ever again, you got it?"

Wilson saluted with his wrapped hand. "Ay, sir."

"Who fixed your hand?"

"I did."

"Your fix sucks, let me see it."

"It's fine, House."

"I said let me see it."

"Touch it and _I'll_ kick your ass."

"Try and I'll show you just what I can do with this cane."

"I won't buy you a new one."

"Ah, touché."


End file.
